


Another Perspective: Carlos' Team of Scientists are Not Alright

by Whisperlyn



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Misplaced Humor, Non-Canonical Character Death, POV Outsider, may get very very dark, mindfuckery, no canon characters die but there is DEATH, wtnv - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisperlyn/pseuds/Whisperlyn
Summary: The U.S.A's own vague yet menacing government agency discover a potentially game-changing material from a previously unknown town in the middle of the Nevada desert. Thus, Carlos and his team of scientists are sent to study this hard to find desert community. There they find houses that are there but aren't, time which is constantly running away, a screaming sun, and of course, ritualistic bloodstones.Of course, this isn't about the United States and their constant hunger for more, or the true intentions of either vague yet menacing government agency, or the intrusive and obsessive man on the radio, or even is it solely about Carlos. This is about the team of scientists that were woefully underprepared and trapped in this desert town.An outsider POV fic with, of course, the canon-typical violence and such, with a dash of humor sprinkled on top.





	1. Un-51

Dr. Hughes was clutching his box, clinking and rattling about as he shifts his weight. Being stuffed into a boxy little van with a weak, almost non-existent air conditioner with 5 other people for hours on end through a desert has not done anything for either his appearance or mood. Especially since Dr. Edwards seemed to have forgotten what deodorant was before this trip. Souring both the air and mood further. Worst of all, due to little space within the confines of this metal prison, he’s been forced to hold a box of equipment on his lap and his personal bag jammed under his feet. Sarah Deans, a highly recommended engineer and technician sat comfortably in the front, passenger seat as she raves to Marc, a young stick-like man who, Hughes believes, wants to pursue a career in the medical field and, at this time, driving the last two hours of the trip. Lastly, in the back was a David. Just a David. Who snored and took up too much space with his dangly legs, firmly packed in the back seat among boxes, bags, water crates, and bags of chips. Somehow, that space has also become the trashcan temporarily for the drive but David didn’t mind. He just snuffled and rolled back over. Despite, the nauseating migraine that pulsed and screamed from within, Dr. Hughes tried to keep his less-than-polite thoughts to himself since this trip was taking a toll on all of them. He shallowly breathed from his mouth thinking about this trip. 

It was exciting, absolutely thrilling in fact. A chance to study where those _materials_ actually came from. The lead, one Dr. Santos, chose them carefully for this expedition that required quite the amount of paperwork to simply be told about the expedition. Then, looking at the fine print, and the not so fine print (actually rather bolded) about security, health risks, confidentiality, and no-contact. Perhaps, that was why Hughes was here, crammed with a bunch of people who were neither the worst nor the best of their fields. Simply put, they were going to be the least missed. The ones who had no one to spill secrets, no one to call and ask where they went, no one to investigate. It’s not nearly as insidious as it sounds, Hughes thinks so, at least. This is just a confidential project. Honestly, there won’t be any fame or glory, anything discovered will probably be buried in some archive of some governmental agency but in all honesty, Hughes just doesn’t care. He wanted some excitement in his damn life. He wanted a purpose and a direction, all the better that he has nothing holding him back. Dr. Hughes thinks of the _materials_. They were, simply put, beautiful and terrifying in equal measures. Stronger than diamonds, no, harder than w-BN, no, stronger than even lonsdaleite. What is odd though is that this, well, this crystalline structure isn’t exactly making much sense either. It shouldn’t be radioactive, but it is. It doesn’t seem to be formed from carbon, or boron, or nitrogen. It glowed red. Bright, eerie, and haunting. It was labeled Un-51. 

Un-51 was retrieved by some distraught tourist; a man lost in the Nevada desert. He seemed to have lost his mind out there, coming back dehydrated and ranting about dogs of all things. He was carrying Un-51 on his person when military personnel seemed to swoop down from nowhere to retrieve him. Then, the government setting their eyes on the prize, began sending men out in the desert in search of the location of Un-51. Either they found nothing and returned empty-handed or they simply didn’t return at all. Hughes was not an idiot, he knew exactly why the government would be interested in such a thing. After all, the sheer advantages this would give the United States over the rest of the world if they manage to get more Un-51... the weapons, the energy, the vast amount of potential that can be found with Un-51 was, quite frankly, terrifying. Hughes thought it didn’t really matter who wielded such a thing, it would cause a disaster but, then again, he was just looking for something interesting in his life and didn’t really care much about why he was there to begin with. After several troops of men were lost in the Nevada desert, alarming in the fact that this was home territory, the composition of those who took these trips began to change. Until, finally, a pattern was discovered. A convoy that had three civilian-consultants had found a town. One that “breaks our known laws of physics” and “Un-51 is everywhere” and “We found Hell. Literal Hell on earth”. None of the soldiers returned, but the three consultants did, rambling and seemingly mad but they returned. This began the pattern. The soldiers, the government officials, all of them would either never find this mysterious town, or completely disappear off the map but the consultants, the scientists, and occasional random civilian sometimes returned. Thus, how Dr. Hughes, Ms. Deans, Dr. Edwards, Marc, and David got selected for this expedition by one Dr. Carlos Santos. 

While Dr. Santos has not been inside the town yet, apparently, he has stood on the edges on several occasions. All alone with neither a convoy or weapon. Simply driving from one of the military checkpoints with intent and curiosity until the town seemingly appeared before him. He stood on that edge enough to speak with apparent local government officials and (believe it or not) came to an agreement with them to allow him and a team to study the town. Dr. Hughes had no doubt that Dr. Santos could and would do such a thing. Meeting him that first time a few months ago left Hughes feeling, well, slightly overwhelmed. He was a strangely fit man for a scientist (and that spoke volumes about his usual “projects”) with a mop of brown floppy curly hair that gave credence to the word “mad scientist”. He was strangely sweet and serious with a morbid humor. Outright giggling at the simple question, “what kind of health and safety risks are there?” and responded with “Well, we’ll all probably simply die quickly and painfully. If we’re lucky, we live long enough to observe the process!”. Perhaps, it says even more about this rag-tag group that they would hear that and still agree to this. Truly, a group that is neither the best or worst, simply with nothing to lose.

 _Well, actually, Dr. Santos should be there now shouldn't he?_ Hughes thought. Trepidation filled as they wondered the desert almost aimlessly. He should've arrived this morning to make sure everything was set up properly before giving the go-ahead. It took most of the day of dreadful waiting (it didn't help that Dr. Santos would have to actually leave town in order to be able send a message) until, finally, a squalling shriek was heard on the transmitter, relaying the simple go ahead and several code words.

That was hours ago. Now, well, Marc lets out a little warble as a sand storm starts to block all visuals and the radio lets out short static bursts. Practically shrieking in agony. 

-BSHHT!-  
-WhY--PeRfecT and BeAUTi---  
\--A sCienTist---alL bEEn ScieNtisTs aT oNe PoinT--  
-BsHHt-  
-That LaB He'S RenTiNG--  
-BshhhT-  
-BsshhhT-  
- **NO ONE** -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, honestly, was suppose to be different. When I had the idea it was just suppose to be an outsider POV about the team of scientists thoughts and feelings. Especially about how creepy Cecil can come off as. Then, it took a turn, with a backstory about how and why they were even there to begin with. Now, Carlos is a little more vaguely threatening by sheer competence, a little more fleshed out beyond "scientist" and with his own mysterious past. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated <3


	2. Birds of Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos' team of scientists run into an unexpected hiccup during the journey to the mysterious little desert town. After all, the town itself is not the only threat to their lives.
> 
> Will they manage to keep their heads?

**-SCREEECHH!-**

The van skidded to a stop as the sand storm dissipated just as abruptly as it began and, in its place, a disgruntled businessman coated in sand and grit glared back at them only a few inches from the hood of the van. He stood there, eerily still with no buildings nor cars nearby to indicate where he came from or where he was going. As if he was simply crossing from one endless horizon of desert filled with baked, cracked soil to the another. Marc makes a little squeak that was frankly pitiful sounding and David finally lurched awake as his face hit the chair in front of him. Hughes pushed forward to check on Ms. Deans, who was cradling her head and—yep, that was blood—she had a cut on the side of her temple that impacted with the dashboard. When he looked back up, the business man was no longer there. The endless desert lined by infinite horizons and not even a speck to indicate where the grit-covered businessman had gone. 

As the occupants of the damned vehicular prison started to come down from their adrenaline rush—rather vocally too—Dr. Edwards leaned forward himself awkwardly, barely moving a couple of inches, and proceeded to adjust his glasses. “I think I can see the town?” triggering an uproar of voices born of confusion, adrenaline, and (not to be ignored) absolute terror. After all, how could they have arrived at least two hours earlier than expected. They followed the instructions left by Dr. Santos and the route created from his GPS tracker (before it inevitably gave out due to proximity to the mysterious town) the group of scientists had created a map that should have had their arrival much, much later. David chimes that perhaps they’ve gotten lost already as he looks at his watch and Hughes is reluctantly impressed by his ability to catch up to the situation despite the clear marks from the seat cushion still angrily imprinted on his head alongside a nicely forming bruise. Ah, perhaps he’s being cruel now but, still, David’s bleary eyes gaze back impassively, a dead-eyed fish stare. 

“Please, just go”. Hughes wearily waved his hand as he slumped back down in his seat and felt resigned as his migraine pulsed heatedly. The tension among this rag-tag team was nearly boiling and the sooner they arrived, the better. The cacophony and less-than melodic mix of voices finally tampered down as Marc slowly pressed the gas pedal and started moving again. 

_\--Bshht!—_  
_\- keep an eye on the helicopter colors-_  
A deep, melodic voice practically sang from the radio. There was a humming and Hughes was a little annoyed at David for it.  
_-Are the unmarked helicopters circling the area black? Probably World Government. Not a good area for play that day-_  
The hairs on Hughes arms stood up and his neck felt prickly. What World Government ‘copter? Besides the UN there isn’t much of—Wait—  
_-Are they blue?-_ The voice breaks through Hughes thoughts.  
_-That’s the Sheriff’s Secret Police. They’ll keep a good eye on your kids, and **hardly** ever take one.-_

The humming gets louder. Unexpectedly, Hughes realizes that, no, the humming isn’t coming from David. 

_-Are they painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving?-_  
“What the fuck!” Deans shouts as the humming is so loud that the windows are shaking. Despite any self-preservation instinct that Hughes may have still had, he rolled down his dirty, smog-like window (that was really impossible to see out of) and then he—  
_-No one knows what those helicopters are, or what they want-_  
Looked—  
_-Do not play in the area. Return to your home and lock the doors until a Sheriff’s Secret Policeman leaves a-_  
Up—  
_-Bshht-_  
_-Cover your ears to blot out the screams-_  
A bright, yellow Helicopter was directly overhead. On the underside was a painted swallow bird. 

‘Well, how beautiful’ was a rather belated thought as the helicopter suddenly had a mechanized protrusion extend and then slowly, ever-so-slowly swivel towards them. Hughes was reminded of the time that his ex held him at gun point. He found it so hard to breathe, like he was gasping in a vacuum, his lungs were gone, he COULDN’T breathe. He stared upwards in despair and terror, feeling like prey he was hopelessly paralyzed. 

“Move it!” Sarah Deans’ voice broke through the trance as Hughes was suddenly wrenched into the van, sprawling across Dr. Edwards lap just in time to witness Sarah scrambling into the driver’s seat as Marc desperately tried to get out of her way. He did not succeed and was halfway under her and partly squished against the door in what looked to be a hilariously uncomfortable position. Then the van started lurched forward as Ms. Deans floored the gas. Hughes had the wonderful experience of having the box—the one originally in his lap—slam into his face. 

**—THUD—** Three metal prongs unexpectedly ripped through the roof of the van, latching on. Slowly, Hughes other senses started to come back and realized David was speaking, “They have a fucking grappling hook?!” He tried in vain to dislodge the metal prongs. Then, the group felt the world-ending fear that all children experience on their first rollercoaster ride. The van was being lifted through the air. The nearly silent sobs of Marc seemed to lead everyone else into that emotional edge since as unexpected as this was, many believed death wouldn’t happen until, at the very least, after they arrived at that blasted desert-town. _Was that too much to ask for?_

David, just David, was partly out the window that Hughes was previously looking out of when he swiftly retreated back into the van and ripped open the box that previously sat in Dr. Hughes’ lap, the one that now had a bit of Dr. Hughes’ blood coating the corner now. From that box, he whisked out a power tool, one with interchangeable parts and such, and clicked on a screw bit. With a rather calm demeanor, he quickly ducked back out the window and began to climb out. 

“David?!” Sarah called out to him as they could hear his movement from the roof of the vehicle. “I need some help up here!” David yelled back over the wind as the van was steadily lifted up in the air. Hughes, well, Hughes at the very fucking least wanted to see what that town was like before his inevitable death—according to Dr. Santos—so he took a few steadying deep breathes in and _moved_. 

The rush of wind was almost welcome from the earlier stale heat. Dr. Hughes anxiously clutched at the ledges of the window that his upper-half was precariously balanced. David, wonderful David, was clutching at the cord of the grappling hook and, bless him, Hughes realized that the cord and the hook were held together by some screws that could be _unscrewed_. “Hold me up!” David exclaimed over the wind. ‘Ah, that could be a problem’. David desperately tried to prevent himself from falling off the van and grasped the cord like a, well, like a man on the brink of death. Hughes floundered for a second before deciding to reach over and grab onto his shoulder and knee, leaving David in an awkward starfish but able to let go of the cord. Arms circled around Hughes like a vice from within the van and he desperately tried to keep his breathing steady under the onslaught of the power tool screaming while van groaned and moaned under the weight. The painted swallow looked on from above. 

The town was steadily approaching but that was little to no comfort now.

The weight of the van proved to be too much for the last screw and it popped in half under the pressure. There were a few seconds of weightlessness, enough time for Hughes to stare back into David’s dead-eyed fish stare while the man had the balls to grin at him, deliriously self-satisfied. David began sliding towards Hughes and they desperately grappled with each other as the van began a rather rapid ascent towards the ground. At the very least, Hughes got his wish to at least see the town since they were right above a little house. The arms circling Hughes’ waist wrenched him back into van and David, wonderful David, in those few seconds let Hughes go, clinging desperately to the edges of the opened windows on each side of the van, thankful for his long, gangly limbs. The thing is, they were not very far up and there were only a few brief moments from the moment of that screw popping off and their inevitable impact. Amazing how quickly the human mind can process things and act in moments as desperate as these. One last quick inhale—

 **BAM** —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I already have the next chapter planned and it's going to have a lot more of a horror/mysterious tone to it. In addition to that, we get to meet Carlos! YAY! 
> 
> I appreciate any feedback on the flow of the story and what you'd like to see more of from this perspective. >.<


	3. Flying High, a Van in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment between one event and the next. Carlos greets his team of scientists and deals with their unusual arrival.

“Dr. Hughes,” a soft-lilting voice called out. The faint scent of sand dunes and wind seemed to carry the salt of the sea. “Hu—Daniel?” 

“Daniel?”

Clara was here. Her summer dress, a pretty little yellow, was beautiful against the sun setting behind her. The beach, a vibrant sea of red behind her, framing a red halo in her hair. “Clara,” Hughes whispered back.   
“You’re late. The day is almost completely wasted again” She waved her arm around to the now empty beach, her lips were pinched downwards as if the pain of interacting with him was almost too much. “I asked you to take today off— “ 

“Clara, you know how important my work is! I can’t simply drop everything and today-”

“One day, Daniel, one day is all I asked of you,” Her eyes became creased but no tears fell. Not anymore.

“and today was important, Clara! I had a meeting with the— “

“Why do you do this to us?”

“We needed funding Clara! All of my work will be wasted if I can’t even finish it! Why do you always push on this?” Hughes, no, Daniel right now, shouted. He was tired and didn’t feel like arguing the moment he saw her. It was like she wanted him to be the villain. 

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the sea. Daniel looked up but saw nothing. “Clara where’s—” By the time he turned his attention back towards her she was gone. All that was left was a setting sun. Beautiful and red and bright, almost blinding. He saw a little yellow dress floating in the water. “Clara!” 

“Hughes?” The soft-lilting voice returned. The urgency seamed to shake his world. The sea became violent, waves were crashing and it began hailing. Completely unprepared for the blunt force, the giant hailstorm that came in, Hughes began to cower. “Clara, I’m sorry!” Hughes called out into the sea. “Abigail, Sweetie, don’t hide. I’m not mad anymore! I swear!” His voice was lost in the storm. He could push nothing but a choked gargle past his throat no matter how hard he tried anymore. 

“HUGHES!”

Dr. Hughes opened his eyes to an aggravated woman shaking him and shouting when a piece of a disassembled microscope pelted off of his forehead. 

“Thank God!” The relief on her face struck Hughes somewhere in his chest. An odd feeling as he remembered a faint memory of a yellow dress. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty, we need to go!” 

Hughes looked around disoriented and faintly reeling between reality and nightmare, not quite in one or the other yet. His world still felt skewed, sideways, and perhaps that is why he only now realized that the world was sideways. Well, the van was anyways. 

“Let’s go, people!” A light-hearted voice called out from below, only a slight sense of urgency and concern being masked ruthlessly. 

“Ugh, wait, what?” Hughes felt even more uncharitable towards himself for the terrible reaction. _Idiot._ He thought. As he went to look out the window Deans responded. 

“We need to throw as much of this equipment out the back as quickly as possible. Throw it to the ground by Dr. Santos and Dr. Edwards." She pointed down to the ground and that was when Hughes realized they were up, on the roof of a little house, and (if his eyes could be believed at this moment) _sinking_ into it.

“Hurry up! We’re working on a limited time frame guessing by how fast that van is sinking! Especially since I doubt we’ll be able to get most of that equipment from a local shop here.” Dr. Santos called from below. His face had a giddy smile plastered on it as he clapped his hands and threw them up, almost as if waiting to be tossed a coke bottle or something else ridiculous. 

“I—I—Damn, Okay!” Hughes reached for the damned disassembled microscope that was pelting him previously as the van tipped precariously. “On it,” He whispered to himself. 

“I have a heavy one, guys” Sarah lugged a box up and waited for the two down below to get ready to catch it. After all, it just wouldn’t do to have their stuff break on impact. As she dropped it (a faint grunt could be heard at impact) Hughes started gathering the smaller items that had fallen about into a box to throw himself when the van began to shift once again. “Get out of there! Now!” Dr. Santos ordered. The soft, light mask he coated his voice with temporarily shredded as the van seemed to be in the process of being _eaten._ “Just jump!” Dr. Edwards’ voice chimed in. Sarah flung out a couple of bags and then leapt, rather spectacularly, a graceful leap that reminded Hughes of a dancer as he followed behind, then paused. Dr. Santos looked on. The man that lured him here. Who looked up with a smile as if he was being passed a Coke instead of watching his team nearly die. 

“Daniel?” Dr. Santos called up to Hughes. “You need to jump” He looked on, impatiently waving his hands in a “gimme” gesture that hurts Hughes in its familiarity. 

“I…” His voice cracks. The sunset is basking him in a warm glow that feels wrong, _wrong, oh so wrong._

“Daniel!” 

_Well, he did warn me,_ Hughes thought. _This, this is **exactly** what I asked for. _Hughes knew why he was selected. Why he was chosen for this. _Because he had nothing left for him anymore._ Nothing besides this. So, Hughes smiled back, a twisted thing, and leapt. 

Being awkwardly caught by Dr. Santos and Edwards did not prevent him from landing in a heap on the ground. Oh, yes, their assistance certainly helped prevent even worse injuries than what has been sustained on the journey here, yet that did not stop Hughes from feeling his prickly pride rear up. Really, Dr. Santos didn’t have to carry him over to the sidewalk. Seriously, being dragged like a corpse would’ve been preferable. Then he dropped him down next to an lumpy heap that stared back at him with a dead-eyed fish stare—“Holy shit!” Hughes leapt back. He took it back! Being dragged like a corpse was not preferable, not preferable! 

“Hey, man.” David’s slack face twisted back into that damnable self-satisfied smirk as Hughes felt his heart trying to run away and took several rapid-fire breathes that probably weren’t doing much good anyways. David, still alive, rolled over with a groan and watched as Ms. Deans, Edwards, Marc, and Dr. Santos all started rounding up the belongings they’ve managed to retrieve before the “A house ate my van, professor, I swear!” incident. 

“Where the hell did you come from?” Hughes questioned as David groaned trying to find a comfortable position for his bruised and battered body. “Eh?” He turned to look back. “The roof was a little spongy. The impact with the ground is what mostly did me in”. David chose to rest in the quintessential “paint me like one of your French girls” pose. “After Carlos arrived, he kinda just dragged me over here, dropped me like a sack of rotten potatoes, and—Ooh, you should’ve seen Marc. Poor little dude jumped right onto his back like some leech!” David laughed at what Hughes had to admit would’ve been funny imagery if he was conscious to have seen it. “Then he had to pry Marc off of him and placed him over here in the ‘Useless potato sacks corner’” David waved at Marc, who couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. 

“The useless what?” Hughes questioned. 

“Useless potato sacks” David began waving more enthusiastically until Sarah glared back at him from her box. “Ya know… Us. Over here since we obviously can’t do much of anything. Ah, I can hear my mom now. ‘That’s nothing new, Dave! Now getchya lazy butt up now!’” David mimicked a high-pitched squeal that Hughes hoped no woman was actually cursed to sound like.

“David” Hughes patiently waited until he looked back up at him.

“What _drugs_ are you even on?”

David smiled back. “Hey, Carlos! Ya’ll almost done?”

Dr. Santos turned back towards them with his patient smile plastered back on. Honestly, Hughes was feeling a touch bit frayed emotionally dealing with the odd little smiles. Truly, he stands by his earlier assessment that they weren’t chosen as some malicious scheme. But he does worry about everyone here. Who would willingly go into a probably death sentence with a smile. Yes, he knew his own reasons, call him a hypocrite if you must, but it makes the rest of this team feel fragile. Knowing that what holds them together is this sad, morbid thing. At the same time, Hughes watched as Dr. Santos briskly paced over, his eyes assessing any damage to the two of them, he felt content with his decision. 

“Just about” Dr. Santos knelt down. “How are you two feeling? Up to carrying a few items? The place we’re renting isn’t too far from here”. 

“Like, how far Mr.—Dr. Santos?” Marc called out from where he tried picking up a box. A pitiful attempt, really. 

“Um, Carlos is fine. Just down the street really. I was checking the surrounding when I saw the rather fascinating mode of travel you lot decided to take. I must say, I wish my arrival was as thrilling.” Dr. Santos (yes, he was still Dr. Santos. It didn’t feel right to address the man in front of him by such a relaxed name as Carlos) seemed to sigh. Sarah seemed to be stuck looking at him perturbed. 

“It wasn’t actually a fuc—”

“No matter!” Dr. Santos cut her off. “I’m so glad you guys finally made it! I swear, this town is even better than I hoped.” 

He practically flew up, grabbing Hughes by the arm and hauling him up. “Come on you two! Stretching will do you good!” Dr. Santos preceded to bodily lug David up, hand everywhere as he patted David as if trying to get off dust and grass. 

Ah, an intrusive thought zipped through Hughes’ mind, He’s concerned. As Dr. Santos continued to pat him down, seemingly unaware of every flinch if not for those razor-sharp eyes assessing their surroundings as if all too aware of the quiet that permeated the air. Oh, this was the first time Hughes even bothered to be concerned with their surroundings. There wasn’t a single sound. Dr. Santos stood up and, oh wow that felt abrupt, vertigo was a bitch. Hughes felt slightly nauseous as Dr. Santos practically swaddled them all into a huddle, each piled with bags and boxes and straining under the weight. 

“Oh, this is so exciting! Some men in cloaks started to hover around me not long ago to tell me the town is so _eager_ that we’re here. There’s a town meeting I’m supposed to be at soon so we really should go! Don’t want to make a bad impression.” Dr. Santos continued on talking about a silly town meeting, but that sharp gaze never faded, nor the taut tension in his shoulders. His voice almost covered up the silence. Almost. Hughes felt the sensation of being watched. There was no abrupt movement behind a curtain nor a rustle in a tree or bush. Those were all deadly still. No, it felt as if the _houses_ were watching, observing, looming, edging ever closer. The team stayed huddled together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and commentary are fuel <3


	4. 3, 4, What's The Town Meeting For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is some new people in this small, pleasant town of Night Vale. It's only proper they introduce themselves.

Sarah’s hair was matted to her face as she swung her head around the corner. The sweat, running, and frantic crawling had pulled strands every which way until it hung uncomfortably in her face. The corridor was empty. Static, finicky lights flickered rapidly signaling poor wiring and contributing to the rising nausea she felt. Her eyes strained, searching for movement, anything, _anyone_.

The eight-foot long fluorescent strip above her blinked out. As she waited with bated breath for 1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds—It finally turned on. Her shadow stretched outwards, fuzzy and distorted from multiple light sources, several copies laying over each other. Yet, none of them quite the same length or shade. 

Sarah contemplated praying to a god she no longer believed in, hadn’t believed in for a long time. As she did, she felt the hypocrisy of praying to this god only when it felt convenient. Strangely enough, she ruminates on the last time she reached out like this. At 14 years old, when the safety lock on the roller coaster unlatched mid-ride. _She_ survived. She also stopped praying that day. 

She cautiously stood up, never one to stay down, _she_ survived. _She had survived_ / Sarah jerkily yanked those strands behind her ears, clearing her vision. _She will survive_. ‘Just like always’ She thought as she pulled out her pocket knife. No matter that she doubted it would do her any good. See, Sarah may not have the fancy titles that many of these scientists did, but there was a reason Carlos found her—tracked her down—hunted her. 

“One” She murmured, reciting the mantra her Mom always made her repeat when she was young, “Always be adaptable. Be unpredictable”

The ceiling was far too high to normally climb it, the walls strangely slick as if freshly painted with a gel of all things, and the doors were locked. She precariously jumped up, grasping frantically at the protruding metal doorframe. Her legs kicked up until she managed to land her left foot hazardously on the door knob and then pulled herself up. She still couldn’t reach the ceiling lined with cheap tacky tiles and fluorescent strips. Sarah lost her balance, falling down and rolling her ankle upon impact. 

“Okay,” Sarah straightened herself back up and tested her ankle tentatively, rolling it around. It was fine, at least for the moment. 

“Two” She continued, remembering her Mom’s grim expression, “Never stop running.” She pivoted then began pacing _back_ in the direction she came from. She rounded the corner, as the lights flickered for a long pause around her for 1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds—there it is.

The shadows seized and pulsed, strangling themselves, as she pushed _towards_ it. A Nightmare. 4 seconds, multiple heads turned in her direction, dark abysses that absorbed light completely. No reflection, no color, merely the absence of everything gave it a sickening outline. The heads, the arms, the appendages, merged in and out of each other. Four head like outlines had twisted into themselves as those outlines became one blur, sinking into the thick, trunk like torso. What could only be assumed a torso. 

—5 seconds, 6 seconds—the light turned back on yet the corridor wasn’t illuminated. The Nightmare was all-encompassing, all-consuming. ‘Don’t stop’ Sarah’s eyes were too sore to even look anymore so she finally closed them, guaranteeing her vision to its own darkness. 

“Three” Sarah whispered, a grin on her face, “Misfortune loves you”. 

**Only two hours and forty two minutes earlier.**

Sarah was practically collapsed on top of her load as one Dr. Santos—“Just Carlos, please”—was splitting the group up already. Apparently, wanting to appease the locals, Carlos had agreed to speak at the town meeting. Sarah glanced at the window and the setting sun which has almost completely disappeared already. _’Odd time for a town meeting’_. 

Carlos was already wrapping up his spiel and signaled for Sarah to follow him back towards the door where Jack--or Dr. Edwards as _he_ preferred, was almost passed out against. Daniel Hughes grumpily started unpacking the equipment which had survived and glared at the lucky few which Carlos selected to accompany him to the meeting. Sarah, amused, teasingly glared back. Was he angry about the cataloging duty or the fact that he had to return to the house afterwards? No matter, he was probably going to be a grouch about everything anyways. Sarah practically danced out the door, leaving Mr. Grumpy behind with a smile on her face. 

That was how she found herself staring up at “Town Hall”. The spires on top of it reminded Sarah uncomfortably of an archaic castle, just tinier. The walls were grey and smudged black, almost as if the paint was burned into the building with the surrounding concrete a pink/brown smudge, faded as if someone furiously power washed the stains. The tulips outside were gorgeous, though. If a little too large for what she was used to seeing. 

Jack Edwards carefully stepped around the stains while Carlos completely ignored their existence as he briskly strode through the propped open doors. A general hum—reminiscent of a cafeteria—emanated from the doors on the far right of the grandiose room. What a room it was indeed. Circular in shape with long stained red windows that twisted into one large window that made up the ceiling—a sun roof of sorts—and painted the room in a red sheen. She glanced over to see Carlos writing in a small notebook momentarily before shoving it back into his pocket. Not even halfway there the trio was intercepted by a small man, dressed all in black with a red scarf obscuring all of his facial features except his eyes. 

“Dr. Santos,” he began, “I see you’ve arrived safely. Mayor Winchell is almost done with her thrilling and exciting **speech**. Meetings such as this are common enough when the citizens need to be reminded.”

 _’Reminded of what?’_ Sarah contemplated the oddly-stilted sentence practically pushed out of a gravely throat, as if worn by disuse and several packs of cigarettes a day. The faint smell of smoke seemed to waft around them. 

“Well, we appreciate being invited!” Carlos grinned, a hint of mischievousness creased his eyes as he threw a wink back at Jack, who was really nonplussed about the whole interaction and chose to instead focus on a graphic mural depicting four humans ripping a horse apart. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really don’t have anything grand to say besides a little introduction”.

“No, that’s fine. Absolutely perfect, in fact. Everyone is ready to start their night anyways” The man with a red scarf gritted out. It was odd to see his body portray one thing—arms wide and welcoming with an energetic and anxious shuffle from one foot to the other—and his voice portray another—a distaste for life, monotone and forced. The man with a red scarf tilted his head back to the door before abruptly spinning back towards them. His eyes, the only distinguishable feature visible, narrowed as he looked Carlos up and down then let out a long, disappointed sigh. 

“Could you not have worn more... appropriate attire?” The man’s shoulders sagged and his head drooped as Carlos curiously looked at himself. He was wearing some khaki pants and a short sleeve button up shirt. Sarah thought it was beyond appropriate in this weather. 

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t informed that there was anything specific to wear” Carlos apologetically smoothed out his pants. Jack was also looking at his attire questioningly then he leaned over to Sarah and whispered “We look okay, though. Right?”. 

“Absolutely not” She viciously retorted, ignoring the Jack’s dramatic reaction, clutching his heart with _betrayal_ in his eyes. Honestly, what was he expecting? Sarah tried to surreptitiously smell herself, hoping she didn’t smell as bad as Jack did. 

“I thought it would be expected that you would wear your work uniform. It will help establish your job clearly during the meeting. No matter, we have some that you could borrow.”

“Work uniform?” Jack questions as he fiddles with his glasses. Carlos simply cocks his head to the right in silent expectancy, his amused look never really fading. As if he knew, he _knew_ that they were about to cart a rack over with the gaudiest Halloween-like lab coats Sarah has ever seen. _What?_ “Ah, I think you’re mistaken. We don’t actually wear lab coats out and about... or even in the lab anymore, now that I think about it” Carlos remarks as he fiddles with the sleeve of one of these lab coat abominations. 

“Sir, you are required to wear the appropriate attire. Especially at formal events such as a town meeting” was the deadpan reply, accompanied by excited gestures as the man in the red scarf fluttered about trying to _force_ Carlos into a lab coat. He paused then glared at Sarah and Jack. “Well?” He prompts.

Only 10 minutes later, Sarah finds herself glaring at the wall she was staring at, furiously fiddling with the cuffs of the lab coat the man in a red scarf forced her into. They were lead around the corner to a side entrance in order to place them discreetly in the corridor that lead to the podium. At which, Sarah could hear a farmer complaining about produce or something. She was honestly not paying much attention, instead focusing on the crawling sensation where the lab coat touched her skin. She couldn’t wait until she could wash the damn thing… and her skin. 

The man in the red scarf walked up to the podium and the farmer fellow appeared to get the unspoken message and moved to the opposite exit. “Now, we have some visitors that would like to take this time to introduce themselves. They’ve earned the approval of the ------” the mic suddenly gave out and Sarah couldn’t hear what he said whatsoever. “So, we ask that you watch over them. Cautiously.” With that final word, the man in the red scarf gestured to the team to step up towards the podium. With mutual understanding, Jack and Sarah both stood slightly behind Carlos as he reached the mic. 

Sarah looked over the crowd and was shocked at how _many_ people seemed to be crammed into the room. It looked like a theatre or an opera house with its ridiculous number of rows filled with people and balconies raised high above them. ‘ _Holy crap_ ’ Suddenly, Sarah was very thankful to not be the one trying to give an impromptu speech, as she, herself, was already getting sweaty from anxiety alone. An exit sign near the back of the theatre began to flicker.

Carlos smiled out at the crowd, a plastic smile on his face.

“Well,” he pauses for a moment, “Hey there”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live off of Feedback and Coffee <3


	5. Just Hum a Little Tune, It'll All Be Over Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How are the two separated groups holding up now?

“Well, hey there,” 

Carlos’ voice bounced around the opera house, a tinny echo from unseen speakers lingers. Rows and rows of eyes, far too many eyes, stared back. The effect of bright stage lights beaming down prevented Sarah from being able to make out much of the audience besides general outlines. Really, it was a bit odd that she could see their eyes of all things. The whites, the pupils, all crisp and clear. 

“First, I wanted to thank you all for taking time out of your-” Carlos pauses briefly, “evening to greet us. As my team can attest, we’ve already had quite an interesting morning and I’m beyond glad I’ve been presented an opportunity to study this community of yours. In fact, I believe this is, by far, the most scientifically-interesting community in the U.S. that I’ve seen in a long time. To think it’s only been one day!” 

Carlos’ lets out a small giggle. The eyes stare back. “Anyways, I hope we don’t intrude on you all too much, as we’ve only come to study just what is going on around here.”

Carlos gives another trivial wave, tilting his head as if to look utterly harmless. It was working. 

“Anyways, I hope you all have a lovely night” He concludes, taking a step back from the podium. The man in the red scarf gestures to them from the exit where the farmer had formerly left. Sarah, eager to get out of the stage lights, took the lead not quite breaking out of a walk but nearly jogging over to him nonetheless. 

The man in the red scarf leaned against the wall, hip cocked out in a studiously flamboyant fashion. In his usual monotone voice, “Well, that was decent. I guess.”

From behind him, an elderly woman hobbles near, practically beaming. “Aren’t you all just precious.” Her flower print dress appeared to be burned at the edges and in her trembling, withered hands, she held a tray of cookies of all things. 

The man in the red scarf whips around and takes a few steps away. “Ah, I wasn’t expecting you here,” He grounds out as his hand flutters to his chest in a dramatic display.

“Hmm? Why wouldn’t I be?” She glances up at the team with a knowing look. “I think you lot should follow me. I and a couple of other townsfolk are having a reception of sorts just out in the lobby. It’d be great if you could spare a moment to join us” She already has an arm looped around Jack’s, tugging him along. Her trembling hands shook like an earthquake was rattling her. It’s a miracle the tray hasn’t fallen yet. 

Carlos cautiously takes the tray from her as the team slowly follows the elderly lady who just kidnapped Jack. Slowly. One deliberate foot after another as she takes her sweet time meandering down the hallway. 

The man in the red scarf tried to interject, a choked noise from the back of his throat as he tried to speak up. Yet, with a look from the woman, was silenced. He glances back and forth between his charges and the woman. Deciding it wasn’t worth it, he turned around and resolutely pretended he saw absolutely nothing. 

Sarah turns back around to face the woman as she thanks the two men for their assistance. Jack was wincing at her harsh grip. 

She had lead them through a small doorway into a large hall that was _not_ the lobby that they entered through. Gone were the red windows and graphic murals. Instead, there were grey walls lined in children’s drawings. A standard cement floor that looked pretty clean if not drab. A single red balloon was tied to a single chair which held a pitcher of pink liquid. _’perhaps, pink lemonade?’_ Sarah briefly thought. A fold-out table had red solo cups, some fruit, an empty yellow bowl, and a small plant with a withered flower within. 

Four men in suits lined the furthest wall, staying out of the light by the few working fluorescent lights above, many of which were already broken. Surrounding the table was a couple of people, chattering and actually looking pretty gleeful. 

A young woman looks over and, interrupting her conversation, skips over. 

“Fresh meat!” She beams, and dips into a jerky bow “howdoyado!” 

* * *

Meanwhile, Hughes wearily stared at the dented, pathetic excuse of a cardboard box in front of him, just as battered as he felt. He focused on the crinkled piece of paper in his hand, scrawled haphazardly across it was, supposedly, an inventory list. He rubbed at his brow, trying in vain to alleviate the building pressure as David hummed off-key some Broadway theme.

So far, between the three of them, they’ve managed to nearly get through the entirety of their belongings—now far more meager than what they started with that morning—and although the majority of their equipment is accounted for and working, _Except for the damn microscope that shattered on Hughes’ head earlier_ , the immediate problem was that their more personal items were abandoned.

Yes, there was a lone bag full of men’s clothing and a single toothbrush but that would hardly appease the team of hungry, sweaty, now-rancid scientists. Hughes heaves a sigh and decides to address the issue once the full team is gathered once more. Something to think about later. He grips a small, shattered Erlenmeyer flask from the pathetic box and places it into the ‘broken pile’ which has been officially labeled with a neon pink sticky note and in the corner a small arrow pointing to Hughes. _Thanks, David_.

David’s terrible humming momentarily stopped as he finally took a much-needed breath of air and, in that moment of silence, there was an unexpected gargled noise. Hughes hurriedly glanced up and in a small corner of the room, curled up like a dying spider, was Marc. The duffle bag he was sorting remained unfinished—strewn in an arc as if it was a protective barrier in front of him. 

_Ah, fuck_ , Hughes watched as tears streaked down Marc’s mottled little face, he looked as if he was gasping for breath, sobbing, yet completely silent. A tragic film muted. Marc’s eyes suddenly caught Hughes’ own and, in that fleeting moment of human empathy, he felt an irrational sense of anxiety. He, well, had absolutely no idea of what to do, where to put his hands, even how to arrange his face. So, he just stared at him in discomfort. 

Marc glanced back down and sunk into himself even more while Hughes stupidly continued to stare at him, thoroughly distracted now as he fiddled with a shard of glass as if daring it cut him and bring about a sufficient excuse to end this horrible moment. 

“Aw, dude”, David began walking around the counter and promptly invaded the small world Marc has made his own, stepping over the crumpled red duffle. Marc twisted some more, the frantic rise and fall of his chest only increased as David tried to offer a hand. 

“Um, crap”, David eloquently continued. “Listen, I know that was a rough start but we’re fine. The helicopter wasn’t even a big deal, like at all. Ya know? Just sped up our trip!” David continued with a false grin as he tried to make light of the attempted kidnapping. 

“It’s not about the damn Helicopter, David!” Hughes bite out. Both David and Marc jumped at his sharp tone and Hughes tried to calm himself. He felt irrational and anxious and the feeling only seemed to swell, bubbling out and over like tea left to long on the stove. 

After Marc had brought attention to it and the adrenaline has long worn off by now, the absolute uncertainty of what _just happened_ seemed to engulf the trio. In a way, the Helicopter was expected. Knowing that the majority of people sent **never** return was a good indicator that there were hostile forces at work. What was tearing at Hughes’ mind, now that Marc looked on in confusion, and David stopped humming his frantic disrupting tune, was the _house_. 

“What was that?” David remarked. Unsure if he was talking about his outburst or if he was on the same page as Hughes and thinking about the house, he decided to respond to both. 

“The house that we landed on-“ Hughes tilts his head back, “-is concerning. I’m unsure about…” Marc interrupts with a hiccup. David turns away and tries to placate him, uncaring that Marc only tried to twist further away. 

Hughes shifts about awkwardly, moving from one foot to the other, before rambling through the maze of lab counters that seemed placed to deliberately slow people down. He crouched down by David, whose whispered reassurances fell on deaf ears, and spoke in a low rumble. 

“David, just follow me for a minute”.

David stared up in annoyance before conceding. He uses the wall to pull himself back up from the cracked tile floor, following as Hughes quickly escaped through the only door leading to the labs. 

“Dude” David muttered. “Not cool”. 

Hughes stared out at the vacant street, a lamp post flickered as he reached into his pocket fetching a lighter. “No, not cool.” He agrees, offering a cigarette to David who simply shakes his head ‘ _Not my kind of stuff, man_ ’ , “Just let him cry it out and give the man the privacy to do so”. 

“He’s just a kid,” David remarks as Hughes finally managed to lite the cigarette he has clenched between his teeth. “You say just ignore him? Seems a little harsh”

“He isn’t a child. If he was, he wouldn’t be here. I’m saying, just let him process in peace. He doesn’t need you hovering over him” Hughes watched wearily as smoke drifted up, some floating into a crack far above them, the rest drifting around the corner of their little alleyway, presumably to rest upon the sign which states ‘Big Rico’s’. He still hasn’t seen anyone pass by and the sun has swiftly fallen. Any hope of going back out was swiftly squashed by the looming stars up above. “Speaking of processing,” Hughes glanced over at David, “any idea what happened with that house?”. 

David mulls over the question, or the incident, or both. The stars don’t wink overhead. ‘ _No satellites then_ ’. Finally, he lets out a sigh that suspiciously sounds like the final note to the damn theme he’s been humming all night. 

“Well, it was pretty odd. The house, appearance-wise, didn’t budge, no rippling, nothing. But, it was acting like quicksand. Van was gone and no holes or dings to be found. Man, completely undisturbed” David draws out “undisturbed” like the beginning note to the reoccurring tune. Hughes definitely notices. ‘ _Shithead_ ’

“You thinking Holograph?” Hughes inquiries. Technology wasn’t really his area, nor was architecture really. 

“Nah, man. At least, not one I’ve seen. It wouldn’t hold well to actually being touched, even if there was a perfect physical model underneath, it would disrupt the image”. 

David kicks his foot out for a bit, just bouncing his heel on the pavement in a studious 4:2 rhythm. “But, even then, I don’t know, man. I didn’t even see any structures lined up correctly that could be used to project that. Like, not even a discretely placed lamp post”. He suddenly perks up, “that actually sounds so cool. A street light, oh, a _traffic light_ would be so cool! Whatchya think man? Think I could do it?”

Before David can get lost in his odd, fantasy land that no man could follow, Hughes interjects. “I’ll put it on a sticky note then. For now, I don’t think looking at it is a priority. Even the helicopter isn’t going to be worth much investigating into. I’m unsure if it’s related to Un-51, but these attacks seem half-assed as it is.” 

“Think it was a warning, then?”

“Perhaps,” Hughes snuffed out his cigarette, stomping the stub into the ground and knocked on the door to signal they were coming back in. 

“Seriously, dude! You need to look after Mother Nature so she’ll look after you” David remarks, as he leans over, snatching up the stub. “Otherwise, you’re gonna ‘ _Stop the World_ ~” He belts out the chorus to the damned catchy tune that will now effectively haunt Hughes’ worst nightmare. He lets the door slam shut on David’s face. 

_Now,_ Hughes glanced around to find Marc silently rummaging through his duffle bag, _We just have to wait for the other three_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Liars: Acknowledge That Which Does Not Exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Hughes, Marc, and David wait back at the lab, Sarah Deans witnesses what may very well be a true Nightmare.

“Fresh Meat!”

The words linger and twist as a couple of men in the back chuckle. The young woman, beautiful really, flutters forward essentially gliding with a young, joyful air.

“Howdoyado?”, She stated as she dramatically bows. In an ever-so-deliberate manner, she slowly straightened back up and threw a flirtatious wink in Sarah Dean’s direction and who was Sarah to deny the young woman the slight upturn of her smile.

It was at this moment that Carlos stepped forward, his razor-straight teeth practically gleaming in the ill-suited light as he grabs her hand in a firm yet brief shake. From that point, the young woman had moved forward to enthusiastically shake Edwards’ hand, blurting out “We don’t get very many visitors, not many at all!”

“And we don’t need any, Cherry!” A man with a striking red beard retorted as he snatched a cookie up from the tray the little old lady had just set down and began chomping on it with a little too much vigor.

“Don’t be like that,” The lady—Cherry—chipperly steps back to Sarah Deans, moving her arm up and down vigorously in one of the most energetic greetings she’s received in a long time. “Nothing better for business than a booming tourist economy. Fresh eyes, fresh money, you know?” She not-so-subtlety looks Sarah Deans up and down before retreating back to the table.

The sole, red balloon in the room bobbed up and down.

The red-bearded man simply shakes his head fondly and bent down to greet the elderly lady with a kiss on the cheek. “How’s it going’ Jo?”

In response, the elderly woman merely leveled a disapproving stare at him.

Edwards adjusted his glasses back and, as he rubs his arm, “ _Her grip is surprisingly solid for her apparent size and demeanor, Okay! Don’t look at me like that”_ , he glanced back toward the small gathering. Sarah nudged him to at the very least pretend to be sociable. 

_“At minimum, say a couple of sentences then we can scram”._

So, with an awkward cough he stated, “Um, while tourism can certainly boost economy, that doesn’t necessarily mean that there will be any immediate returns for your local business, depending on what service your providing…” and his voice softly muted as he glanced back. Sarah resists the urge to slam her face into the wall. Really? That’s what he is going with?

“Oh, yes. See, we just opened a museum! We’re celebrating finishing all the paperwork—”

“So, so much paperwork,” Ernie interrupts, looking slightly traumatized.

“—to our very own building just around the corner. Oh, Ernie! Tell them about it!” The young woman hopped up and down, playfully batting the red balloon towards another young man, gangly with terrible acne but a charming smile. The balloon snapped back towards her due to the string tied to the chair, obscuring Cherry’s face.  
“Um,” the lanky young man reached back, messing with his hair as he glances up sporadically, “Yeah, you guys should definitely check it out. It opens Friday. It’s by the smoothie shop just around the corner. Uh, the name is a work-in-progress, though”.

Intrigued, Carlos seems to focus on Ernie with a peculiar intensity. “That would be lovely! What would you be displaying?” Carlos leaned forward as he spoke and seemed genuinely interested despite the fact that their responses were variants of “We don’t know, yet”.

‘ _Yikes! How can you not know what you’re displaying in a museum? That opens in a couple of days? That has no name?!’_ Sarah thought to herself. _The absolute balls on these people are astounding._

The conversation was swiftly deemed uninteresting as it turned to “What do you believe is worth displaying— **representing** —your town?” _(Carlos)_ and odd chatter about finances between the red-bearded man and Jack Edwards.

Sarah Deans passively watched the small gathering, her eyes drawn to the waving balloon, obscuring Cherry’s face most of the time as she chatted, yet, Sarah couldn’t help but look. 

She—Cherry—looked like warmth. Sarah glanced down to her feet in embarrassment, her chest felt void and aching. 

The elderly woman looked on with a fond smile, who was resting now in the sole chair as the four men who lined the back gazed at her, or rather, just above her.  
She smiles meaningfully at Sarah Deans and gestured to Ernie, the gangly, acne-ridden man, over toward herself. He ( _so very tall_ ) leaned over and listens to her before nodding abruptly and grabbing the tray of cookies. Slowly, he weaved over stopping his odd zigzag pattern in front of none other than Sarah Deans.

“Hey,” he softly stutters, “You should join in on the celebrations” and he offers her the tray.

Sarah glances down at the soft, lightly browned cookie, mounds of chocolate chips scattered throughout. It did look appetizing.

“Thank you,” She briefly smiled before grabbing one, Ernie gestures the tray towards Carlos and Edwards. Carlos gently declined while Edwards took one and promptly dropped it on the floor. The utter resignation on his face spoke volumes about how often of an occurrence this particular clumsiness is as he apologizes.

Sarah nibbled on her cookie merely observing the itty bitty gathering. A slight, unnoticed giggle slip out of her as the balloon waves back and forth, back and forth. 

Obscuring Cherry’s face in one moment then bobbing back the next. Her head felt light and fuzzy.

A tall man walked out of the door the trio had previously entered from, presumably from the town meeting. His face was buried in the shadows as he sauntered across the room—silent. No one took notice of him even as he came to stop directly behind Carlos—looming.

“Um, I think I need to use the restroom?” Sarah looks over and around for directions.

“Down that hall, sweetheart” The old woman answers, with a gnarled finger gesturing towards a small hallway. One of the suited men in the back shuffled slightly. It was the first time Sarah saw one of them move. Sarah gives a quick nod of thanks before briskly moving down the ill-lit hall.

She stopped at a fork that _oh-so-helpfully_ had a pint-sized sign with a multitude of mystifying symbols pointing either left or right ( **and one straight down** ). Ultimately, She went right. Sarah felt like it was getting hot—like there was fire in her blood and she was burning.

**BUrniNg**

‘ _Really! What is this, an anxiety attack_?’ Her eyes sting in the corners and she felt a NEED to get out of there. Her mind demanded, that it is _essential_ as she fought off a wave of nausea. She needed to be alone with her thoughts and her— She finally came upon a door to her left which had a little woman symbol burned into the wood—pushing it open to find a row of stalls and three sinks. The last sink was upside down.

Sarah pushed the stall door open and kneels in front of the toilet and waited for the next bout of nausea. God, she felt horrible. Pressure behind her eyes builds as she ambled forward, clenching her own stomach. 

She retches, bile spewing forth. Predominantly just stomach acid from an empty stomach that hadn’t had much to eat all day, only trying to expel something that wasn’t there. She looked down at the toilet in disgust as she snatched up toilet paper to wipe up her face.

The lights flicker off and the absolute horror of standing in pitch black obscurity became overwhelming in an instant. Her nausea temporarily subdued as she held her breathe, quite reminiscent of how children would do so in the dark of their own bedrooms.

They flicker back on and she exhales. Swiftly stepping out of the stall towards a sink to rinse off her face, Sarah moved hurriedly. 

‘What was that’, a faint clicking sound was heard. She looked up in the direction of the noise, only finding a small vent which has turned on. The lights flicker off.

So, she stands immobile with her ears straining for sound, her eyes wide open in search of light and she feels—She **feels** —the air from the vent blowing on her…from the wrong direction.

She bursts out of the bathroom with her shoulder slamming against the door in the dark and ran. The lights above began flickering and sputtering, little sparks before becoming lifeless and then… she **saw**. 

The abyss, the nothing, the nightmare… it liquefied into itself, as limbs formed and protruded out before they, too, rotted away in an instant. Appendages upon appendages, it stretched. A head, several heads formed in each direction before vaporizing into more shadows, and appendages upon appendages it stretched, outwards in two symmetrical atrocities on either side like a cocoon ready to wrap around her. 

What else could Sarah do but run? She doubted she could even manage that much.

* * *

Sarah Deans was exhausted. She had ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran yet no matter where she turned _it_ was there. Looming, oppressing, **_existing_** when it should not _exist_. The thing of coalescing shapes and nightmares, of screaming thoughts and damnation. 

Her hair was matted to her face—the running and frantic crawling had pulled strands every which way until it hung unpleasantly on her face. 

Why couldn’t she find her way out? Those pitiful signs with mystifying symbols, more a threat than any form of assistance. All the symbols—All direction—pointed straight down. 

Her eyes strained, searching for movement, anything, anyone.

The eight-foot long fluorescent strip above her blinked out. As she waited with bated breath for 1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds—It finally turned on. 

Sarah briefly considered God in this moment, then swiftly—brutally—crushed the thought. 

Sarah was never one to stay down, never one to lie down. After all, ever since that day, the roller coaster, _she survived_.

  
_The lock had broken (had it broken?) and she was hanging. Screaming and screaming yet no one could help her. Screaming and screaming—Please, Mommy, help!—as she looked up at her mother, who blissfully smiled down at her—why wouldn’t she take her hand!—as she hung over the crowd, “Oh, my baby. Misfortune really does love you”. She had this terrible gleam in her eye._

Sarah jerkily yanked those strands behind her ears, clearing her vision. She will survive. _‘Just like always’_. She recites the mantra her mother seared into her mind at a young age,

_“Misfortune really loves you”_  


After exhausting all other options, Sarah Deans simply smiles—a feral thing—turns back, closes her eyes, and runs one last time.

She feels the lights above her dying, giving flicks of electricity before that, too, is consumed. She runs, runs like the condemned she is, holds her breathe, and staggers as she feels the artificial warmth of lights caress her face once more. She opens her eyes and sees a red balloon bobbing along. Carlos, _dear, God, Carlos,_ is facing away from her but she has never felt more relieved to see someone’s mere shoulder blades. She staggers forward, step after step. Free.

No one looks her way. 

“Carlos!” She grunts out, her voice a wispy thing torn from her throat. 

He doesn’t turn around. 

“Carlos?”

Nothing. She is right upon him, she stares into his eyes as he looks _beyond_ her. “Carlos, please!”, she gasps as she collapses before him, on her knees gazing up, pleading. “Carlos!”

A tall, lean figure smiles against the wall. Sarah Deans recognizes it, for it was the figure who walked in just before she left. He sauntered up behind Carlos, face obscured and murky, the ill-lighting seems at home with him and he gently placed his hand on Carlos’ head.

Carlos didn’t react, didn’t notice. No one reacted.

“Oh you wretched, misfortunate soul. I would help but, well, _**it**_ doesn’t exist”. 

“Stop. Stop! Get away from me. Us” Sarah chokes out.

“Hmm? Well, I would say this is what happens when you acknowledge that which does not exist. What a steep price to pay. Was it worth it?”

The figure, the man, slowly took his hand off of Carlos—still so unaware—and slowly stepped backward. 

“S-stop” 

The man brushes his fingers across Carlos’ face before walking away, leaving her kneeling on the cold, cement floor. He turned around one last time,

“For what it is worth, I think it is worth it. **To See** ”, He almost sounded remorseful.

* * *

Sarah Deans jolts up, tugging her head off the side of the toilet. “Wha-“- She cuts her off with a groan as she looks around her. The toilet had yellow-tinted bile and what looked like little pills floating. 

“Fu-Fuck” Sarah yanks the toilet handle, her limbs jerky and trembling. 

She pulls herself up, leaning her weight against the walls of the stall as she unlatches the door. After washing her hands in the sink and desperately flushing her face with water, washing away poor decisions, regrets, and saliva. 

Sarah jerkily glances around the bathroom, a normal bathroom with three normal stalls, three perfectly normal sinks. Guiltily, she exhales as she fingers the pill bottle in her pocket. 

“Damnit”.

Sarah Deans followed the corridor back to the room, and there she was. Cherry was giggling as she circled around the old woman- _Jo, was it?_ -dancing and looking so carefree. Sarah looked on and felt a small twinge in her chest. 

Carlos and the kid, whatshisface Erwin? Edgar?, paused to look at her. Carlos’ face suddenly darkened. A moment, only an instant, then he was back to a beatific smile, his body loose and relaxed. But she knew he knew. 

Carlos excused himself before walking up to her until he was far too close. He eyed her, then, in his damned, charismatic voice, “This has been lovely, but I believe it is time we go”. 

“Oh, that’s all right, hun. Ya’ll take care, ya hear?” The old woman smiles, gesturing towards a door on the other side of the room. Nondescript but presumably their exit.

“Oh well, thank you” Carlos almost shyly waves, looking both charming and awkward, an unassuming allure really. 

‘ _Liar_ ’, a dark voice snarls inside Sarah’s head. She shoves that voice back. She shoves it right back alongside memories of a lock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story, which I had set out to be only a chapter-long, largely light-hearted with a bit of mystery has turned into a multichapter fic with a bit of a dark twist. There will still be light moments, there will still be comedic moments, but there are also quite the dark instances.
> 
> I feel it is important to make sure that everyone is aware that there will be character deaths. No one who is canon in the podcast but are major within this story.
> 
> I have my story nearly finished (some moments here and there and deciding if I want to be THAT cruel with some plot points) and most scenes are already in the rd stages. 
> 
> I'm so excited, I have these little plots for each character. Entire pages dedicated to their motivations, why they are where they are, and ultimately, what happens with each one. I've built little stages that slowly reveal more and more. But ultimately, the more is revealed the darker this story becomes.
> 
> Carlos, sweet Carlos. Whose teeth are like a military cemetery. The less I say the better.


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